


A Howling Good Time

by Insignias



Series: Wolfing Around [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Sex, Begging, Car Sex, Established Relationship, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Rimming, Sex in a Car, Unsafe Sex, Were-Creatures, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 15:50:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12235974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insignias/pseuds/Insignias
Summary: It was like being hit and run over by a mac truck. Shiro felt all the air being sucked out of the room, his attention sharpening to a single point: Lance laughing at something Allura had quipped, his fake tail bobbing as he slipped out of the way of someone else. Shiro felt something shift inside him, waking up; something dark and primal that whispered mine and now.





	A Howling Good Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waffle_walks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waffle_walks/gifts).



> Waffle-walks posted this and when it cropped up on my dash I had to write something for it. Apologies that it devolves into filthy smut, but I really adore all your headcanons. Thank you! Original post found here: https://waffle-walks.tumblr.com/post/165661990318/au-where-shiro-is-a-werewolf-and-lance-decides-to
> 
>  
> 
> I simply couldn't resist. And it's October now! So it's appropriate.

Shiro heard Lance's car pull up as he accepted a cup of something unmentionable from Pidge, who looked far too smug about its contents. He took a sip as she settled beside him and tried not to gag—unmentionable really was the best word for whatever she'd dumped inside. She grinned at his expression and took a long swallow of her own, curling against the armrest and craning her head up to look at whoever had just swept inside, cold night air sighing through the front hall.

The house was crowded and thrumming with people and music, but even with all the distraction, Shiro could track Lance's scent out of all of them; warm and sharp, like a shot of spiced cinnamon and something earthen, intoxicating in its complexity. He was smiling before he realized it, heartbeat ticking up as he turned to look too, and froze in his seat. 

Allura swayed as she freed herself from embrace of the young man now speaking with her, resplendent in a gown better seen at a theater premiere than a Halloween night party, soft purple silk falling off of her delicate shoulders, silver hair cascading in elegant curls down her back, indulgent with her time as Lance gestured at her look, clearly complimenting. But Shiro hardly saw her, too riveted on the sight before him, laid out like some ridiculous feast.

Lance hadn't told him what he'd decided to wear this year, a 180 from last year where he'd insisted they attend as The Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood. When Shiro had protested—a wolf, really?--Lance had kissed his nose and murmured, “Wait until you see what I'm bringing to grandma's house.” And honestly? Shiro should not have found that as enticing as he had.

But this year he had been strangely tight-lipped about his plans and Shiro hadn't noticed the usual disaster of a living room as Halloween approached; Lance engrossed in his efforts to decorate their house and finish whatever costume pair he'd come up with. In fact, Shiro had largely forgotten that they were even supposed to attend a party—it was only Lance's text that he was going to be late that had reminded him. He'd hastily tossed on an old shirt and jeans, hoping it would be enough to assuage Allura's taste. (He'd passed, but barely and silently thanked Lance for buying him flannel all those months ago, even if the intent of it hadn't been for impromptu lumberjack).

But Lance, by God, Lance hadn't forgotten. He stood there, oblivious and chatting away with Allura, wearing a furry vest, lined in a thick, ridiculous ruff that barely covered his chest; the long plane of his stomach bare and visible, his hip piercings winking in the uneven light. He had on the shortest jean shorts Shiro had ever seen, lined with more fur, and boots that should not have been as adorable as they were, bulky and heavy, but showing off the sleek muscle that worked to make each movement easy. Ears poked out like twin points from his head and as he bounced on the balls of his feet the little tail at his rear bobbed, swaying with every step. 

It was like being hit and then run over by a mac truck. Shiro felt all the air being sucked out of the room; his attention sharpening to a single point: Lance laughing at something Allura quipped, easy and sweet as if he wasn't dressed like sin, his scent spiked with mischief and arousal, like he knew exactly what Shiro was feeling. Like he could scent it too. 

Something shifted inside him, waking up; something dark and primal that whispered mine and now. He was on his feet before realizing it, Pidge grunting in the background as the couch sank from his absence, but it was a dull thing, lost as Shiro slunk his was through the crowd, avoiding hips and arms by sheer luck, too focused on the bright point of Lance's smile, the thick fur sloping over his shoulders in counterpoint. 

He was only feet from them when Lance caught sight of him and something in him loosened, minutely, as Lance offered him a sly wink, then stepped out of the hall and into another room, leaving him bereft, stunned. He'd never been so summarily tripped up like that; ignored by Lance in favor of anything else. He flicked a glance to Allura, who only raised a single, perfect brow, looking far too amused. He felt himself show his teeth, and followed after him.

 

Lance was ignoring him. 

It hadn't been a passing—something. Lance hadn't mis-stepped, or gone for a drink—he was ignoring Shiro. Chatting away with everyone around him, flitting from group to group with an ease Shiro envied, even as it set his teeth on edge. But even when Shiro settled back on the couch, Keith sinking down next to him, jittery and unnerved until Shiro smoothed a hand over his nape to soothe him, the sharp scent of pack-mate a balm to both of them, he couldn't shift his focus from Lance. 

His nose tracked him even when his eyes couldn't, his own stubbornness at the rejection warring with his need to know where he was. That was his boyfriend chatting with an unknown friend, his boyfriend slipping out of his reach without a word, his boyfriend trailing slick nails across his shoulders as he slipped behind him, sending a shiver down Shiro's spine; warmth and need curling in his gut as he flicked his gaze to follow him, entranced by that silly tail that bobbed with each step. Shiro wanted to grab it, wanted to pull Lance to him with it, slip his fingers underneath and see if it was just a part of the jeans, or if the little tart had come to a Halloween party with a little extra inside him. 

It was driving Shiro up a wall. 

He stood, abruptly, Keith making a sound of protest, eyes flaring gold even as Shiro rumbled low-level assurance at him, too caught up in Lance's chase to really focus on anything else. Keith rolled his eyes, disgusted, and curled in on himself. Guilt tugged at Shiro and he swept a hand through Keith's messy hair. Keith sighed and sunk deeper, waving him off to glare at the TV, skeletons dancing on the screen. Shiro lingered, embarrassed, until Hunk appeared; plopping himself in Shiro's vacated space with a loud sigh, looking tired, but offering Keith a cup of Unmentionable and sipping his own. 

Keith accepted begrudgingly and with a dubious sniff, nose curling as he tried to parse everything in it.

“Dude, you're not supposed to figure out what's in it.” Hunk chided, tapping their cups together, “If I stopped to think about what's in it I wouldn't be drinking it.”

“Then why are you?” Keith demanded, staring into the dark liquid.

“Dunno,” Hunk admitted, taking another gulp, “Pidge made it.”

Keith groaned and Shiro slipped away, guiltily relieved.

He found Lance in the kitchen, food laid out on every surface, the thrum of music and . Lance noticed him the moment he stepped into the room, but didn't flee, even as Shiro stalked toward him, unable to stop himself from crowding him into the cabinets. Lance let him, avid, gold irises glinting in the half-light. It stopped Shiro in his tracks. 

This is new and startling territory, Lance's eyes are blue, beautifully so, perfect. Gold means something else; gold means wolf and power and new. Uncharted, unexpected. It sends a jolt through him; vibrating up his nerves and setting off every instinct he'd spent so much time containing, squeezing the thoughts shut under steel and bolt. But the thought of Lance having turned is too much, something dark and primal howling inside him in triumph and fury. He had wanted to be the one to turn him, to bite him and claim him; bind them together in something older than time. The duality warred inside him, frustration and desire setting his nerves alight, made worse by the look Lance gave him, as if he knew all Shiro's secrets and liked watching him squirm. 

He took a bite of red velvet cupcake as Shiro crowded him, trapping him with his bulk.

“What are you doing.” It came out too rough, dark and full of something Shiro couldn't name. Lance's brows twitched up, but he only swallowed, licking frosting from his lips with a quick dart of his tongue. 

Shiro's gaze sharpened and he could feel himself shift, claws scraping in quiet warning as he pressed closer, instinctive. He watched Lance's eyes widen, heard his his heartbeat quicken, but he stared up at Shiro, wordless, defiant. 

“Lance,” Shiro warned, grown hoarse, helpless against himself, “What--” 

“Pidge!” Lance chirped, startling him, breaking the tension between them. Lance darted underneath his arm, bouncing into the young woman's space even as she stared at them both, dubious. “How have you been, hun? I haven't seen you in ages!” 

“You saw me thirty minutes ago,” She grumbled, but let Lance steer her away, not before batting his arm away from her shoulders, “What do you want now?” 

Shiro stared after them, incredulous. It took all his effort not to crack the counter in half.

 

An hour dragged on, Shiro drawn taunt and seething all the while, baleful as Lance ingratiated himself to everyone at the party, only now he'd make a point to flick a glance at Shiro just long enough to have him ready to stand, before slipping away into someone else's space, beaming and feigning innocence. 

It made Shiro want to bite him, just to make him stay. 

He sat there, on the couch, his claimed domain for the duration of whatever this was, until Keith fixed him with an aggravated look and nearly kicked him off it with a snarl. Shiro fixed him with a warning look, but Keith just bared his teeth, showing his neck only when Shiro took a step toward him, challenged. 

“Just fuck him already.” Keith spat, ignoring Hunk's splutter beside him, shocked, “He's not even asking at this point, he's telling you. So either get a room or get out.” 

Shiro stared at him for a long moment, disbelieving at his defiance. Keith glared back. 

“Later.” He promised. Keith's eyes sparked yellow, but he nodded. He looked far too smug. But Lance's scent was shuddering through him on every breath, familiar and aching and it was too much. Too much that Lance wasn't right there, smiling and bumping his hip, sharing his space as Shiro wrapped him up tight; a show that Lance was his. 

He found Lance chatting up Allura again, easy and sweet, charming the Fae even as she rolled her eyes at his joke. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, leaning closer, mischief and daring in his smile. Shiro clamped an arm on his bicep, and Lance started, then flashed him the same grin. 

“Oh, Shiro!” He cried, in mock-surprise, “I didn't see you there! What's up?”

He growled, low and warning in his throat, feeling his claws pop out as his grip tightened on the young man's arm. It took far more than he wanted to admit to pull them back, “Let's go.” 

“But I was just having a chat with Allura--” Lance stumbled, Shiro having not waited for his answer before tugging him away. Lance's mock-pout lit him up even though he knew better; his patience had worn too thin. 

And Lance began to laugh. 

“Sorry, Allura!” He called, as Shiro made for the door, “I think he's a little hungry—I really loved the party!”

The cool night air hit Shiro as he pulled them into the quiet night, grounding him, and he let his grip loosen enough to take Lance's hand instead, furry and---of course. Of course he was wearing little furry gloves. Of course. 

“Lance.” Shiro ground out, fingers flexing against his furred palm, scenting for his car like a newborn pup, too focused on Lance beside him; warm and solid, a heart attack on two legs. 

Lance blinked at him prettily, “Yes, Shiro?” 

“You're killing me.” 

The younger man winked at him, swiping a hand in mock-dismissal, “You're such a sweet-talker.” 

Shiro groaned and tugged them both to his car, wrenching the passenger door open to haul Lance into it, giggling as if this were the funniest thing he's seen all day. Maybe it was; at this point Shiro couldn't tell anymore. 

“Can you drive?” Lance asked, all cheek, and Shiro kissed him, patience gone with the scent of him, spiced and earthen, mingled with his own like it belonged there. Lance shuddered against him, hand curling at his cheek; pulling him in as he sucked at Lance's tongue just to hear the quiet noise Lance always made, like it a surprise every time. 

“If I don't,” Shiro rasped, pulling back just long enough to gulp air before sinking back into him, palming Lance's cock through those absurdly small shorts, “Then we'll crash. I have to keep my hands on something.” 

“You could fuck me here,” Lance offered, swallowing Shiro's groan as he fit his hand over-top Shiro's, rubbing them both against his erection, shuddering into it. 

“Can't,” Shiro gasped, whining low in his throat, “People.” 

Lance released his hand over Shiro's only to wrap both palms to his face, pulling him down until they lay sprawled between the front seat, Lance's back balanced precariously over the central dash, lithe and sinuous. Shiro fell into him, helpless, and could only groan as Lance's clothed cock jutted against his at their descent; a bolt of hot need right through his gut as his knees ground into the door frame, jolting pain minute against the scene laid out before him. 

“Want you,” Lance crooned, combing thick fingers through the scruff of Shiro's fade cut, intoxicating and soothing all at once, “Been waiting all night. ” 

Shiro snarled and rutted against him, triumph surging, something dark inside him coiling tight; whispering prey and caught. 

“Fucking tease.” He accused, teeth baring in a smile and Lance laughed, wrapping his legs around his waist in a vice, drawing him back in even as Shiro tried to right himself; to pull away and punish Lance a little for the wait.

“You were so good.” Lance murmured through kisses, sloppy. Shiro rumbled, low and dark, pleased, and nosed his head back to suck at his pulse point, canines scraping, unable to fight the need to mark and claim. If Lance was marked he wouldn't do this; wouldn't set Shiro off with teasing and wearing fur and nothing else, wouldn't ignore him and leave him bereft all night, wanting to follow him like a puppy waiting for a treat. He'd listen, he'd obey, he'd let Shiro fuck him whenever he wanted. Needed. Like he did right now. It would be so easy. So good. The feel of Lance's pulse against his tongue, the sound of Lance's gasp. It'd be perfect, right, needed--

Shiro pulled back, aching, drawn bow-taunt with need and the certainty that marking him wouldn't change a damn thing, no matter what his instincts begged of him. Lance would always be Lance, teasing and perfect and too much. Wearing whatever he liked and leading him by the nose, giving him everything he wanted and so much more. The primal thing inside him knew it too, even as it snarled against him. It loved the chase of it, brought to life for it.

He was in so, so deep.

Lance was keening at the loss of him, his hips hitching up and up, straining, the front of his jeans darkening as Shiro shuddered into reality, pressing a thumb to it just to feel Lance's heel crack against his back.

“Shiro,” He gasped, flushed and open; pulling at him with clumsy fingers, “Shiro, please.” 

“Can't,” Shiro reminded him, though it took everything in him to tug Lance's hands off him, slide his fingers around furred legs and pry them free, “We promised, remember? No fucking at Allura's.” 

Lance groaned and flung a hand over his face, expression pinched tight even as he palmed himself, flushed down his chest. Shiro licked his lips, helpless, wanting a taste. “We're not at Allura's, we're in the car.” 

“Still at Allura's,” Shiro chided, smile twitching as Lance's hand wandered toward Shiro's zipper, batting it away and stepping back. 

Lance followed him, groaning, sitting up in his seat, expression hazy and sour until Shiro cupped his chin and kissed him again. Lance's shoulders twitched and Shiro withdrew before he could trap them again, the little sneak. 

“I'm going to get started,” Lance warned, daring. “You can join in whenever.” 

Shiro swallowed and bared his teeth. Lance's pulse did interesting things for it. 

“You do that.”

 

They made it three quarters of the way home before Shiro pulled off to a side road, rough and sloppy and one-handed, the other sunk deep into Lance's open jeans; palming him as Lance hiccuped laughter and braced himself against seat to fuck into Shiro's grip. Lance had been fingering himself for the past ten minutes and Shiro had been privy to every detail, the slick squelch of lube he'd somehow already had with him, and the soft narration as Lance described everything he was doing; how he'd imagined Shiro doing it. 

“You're not, nnn, deep enough.” Lance had gasped, twisting his hips, precum dripping, “Can't feel your fingers inside me if they're still on my dick.” 

Shiro slammed the car into park, the engine still thrumming and made his way around the front, Lance's laughter echoing in the night air as he slipped out of his seat, only to be shoved into the back seat, skidding, grunting as his shoulder hit a lock and bracing himself against the opposite door. Shiro hitched him up, snarling and lost in it, claws popping and tearing through the seams of his jeans, sinking his mouth onto him with no warning at all. 

Lance shouted in surprise, curling in on himself as Shiro lapped at his hole; thick broad strokes with the flat of his tongue that had Lance fluttering against him, sounds punching out of his mouth with every jolt of sensation. His foot kicked at the door frame, jarring Shiro's shoulder until he shoved it over him, a warning rumbling through him and making Lance shudder, his cock dribbling onto his bare stomach as his hips arched, demanding more.

“Sh-Shiro--” Lance wheezed, clawing at his hair as Shiro paused, gaze flicking to him, “Nn-wait--” 

But Shiro only sunk his tongue into him in response, stroking deep but not nearly enough, lapping at the rim of his hole until it clenched against him, Lance crying out from the overload, coming from it, splattering his chest as it heaved from too little air, flushed right down to his perk nipples. 

He was still gasping, riding the ebbing waves of it, when he felt Shiro flick his torn shorts into the dark and loomed close once more.

“I'm not done,” Shiro promised, and sunk two fingers into him. Lance moaned and spread his legs for him, “I'll never be done. Fuck, Lance.” 

“Hurry up,” Lance croaked, grinning, hazy and wide, “Hurry up then. Fuck. Wore a plug all day to be ready for you, so you wouldn't have to wait, so get in me--” 

Shiro swore, shaking, pulling out only to sink in with three; eyes bright and gold, reflective in the dark, “No. No, you made me wait, so I'm going to--” 

“Can't wait, can't, can't,” Lance growled, pulling at him, bending impossibly close to unzip him from his jeans, his long fingers tugging his cock free as Shiro choked on air, hips stuttering forward, “Now, now, give it to me Shiro, please, please--” 

And then he was slipping into tight, wet heat, everything blown out of his head, sinking in to the hilt as Lance keened and clenched tight around him, too much and not enough all at once. He couldn't tell when he bottomed out inside Lance, too caught in the sense of it; Lance shuddering and gasping thickly, clutching him close, air punching out of him with each thrust.

“More,” Lance begged, rocking into him, matching his rhythm in sharp little twists, “More, more, Shiro, need it, need you, please.” 

Shiro obliged, helpless against it, setting his grip against the seats surrounding them and pounding into the heat clenching tight around him; arrhythmical as Lance fought for air and leverage, flushed open with need and pleasure. 

“Please,” He gasped, claws rasping against Shiro's back, drawing him close, straining Shiro's back with the effort of it, “Bite me, please, please,” 

Shiro groaned, loud and deep, instincts roaring against his careful chains, brought low by Lance's pleas; the need to obey, to claim him too much to bear. He felt his canines sharpen, the shock of his words almost sending him over; falling into his shoulder so easily, Lance hiccuping in his ear. 

“Can't, can't,” Shiro whined, sucking a mark at the juncture of Lance's jaw and neck, helpless, needing it, aching for him, “Promised, we promised--” To wait, to think about it, he'd been so good--

“I know, I know,” Lance crooned, shaking, sinking sharp fingers into his hair, guiding him lower, “Here, here, try here,” he gasped, as Shiro felt himself grow larger, flushing up to his ears. It wasn't the full moon, he shouldn't be able to--

Shiro bit, heaving, sinking his teeth deep into fur and flesh, tears pricking at his eyes because this was not how he intended—he should've—but he wanted and Lance did too, choking and gasping, writhing into him as he felt the girth of him thicken, legs trapping him like a vice. 

But there was no flood of copper in his mouth, no jolt of power arching from him, sparking thought and emotion in their wake. There was just fur and warmth and Lance clutching at him, grip tight on his hair as he shuddered against him. 

Shiro pulled back, confused, forlorn, and discovered the little shudders were laughter. 

“Padding,” Lance gasped, grinning up at him, clenching around him as Shiro slowed, “Thought we might practice first.” 

Shiro blinked at him, stunned, then felt his expression crumple in something too endeared to be relief, “You,” He started, a chuckle bursting out of him, “Why are you like this?” 

Lance winked at him and arched his hips, shameless, until Shiro's met his again, “You love it.” he breathed, bright and beautiful. Shiro leaned into the hand cupping his jaw, thumb swiping his lip. He felt helpless, enamored. 

“I love you,” He said, and pressed a kiss to Lance's palm. 

Lance's false-gold eyes widened, mirrored by his smile, “Love you too, big guy.” He flexed his legs then, heels jolting the other man deeper. Lance bit his lip, eyelids fluttering, “Mm, bigger guy. Wanna show me how much?” 

Shiro laughed, and jolted him forward. Lance gasped prettily, his hole squeezing against Shiro's girth.

“Mm, thought so,” Lance agreed, sliding his hands to Shiro's hips, “C'mon then.” 

“I don't know,” Shiro rumbled, pulling back. Lance's brow furrowed in confusion, then surprise as Shiro kept going, until only the tip of him pressed at Lance, his hole fluttering against it, spread too wide to close, “You've been an awful tease today.”

“Shiro,” Lance groaned and tugged at his hips, “Shiro, don't be mean,” 

“What do you say when you're bad, Lance?” Shiro murmured, palming the inside of Lance's knees, forcing them wider so Shiro could stare down at his handiwork, Lance slick and open.

“Fuck me,” Lance growled out, gold glinting beneath half-folded lids, “Shiro--”

“That's not it,” Shiro chided, rocking forward to slide his cock across Lance's hole biting his lip as Lance grunted and strained against his hold; rocking up to try to pull him in, “What do you say?” 

“Sorry!” Lance ground out, breaking, hips twisting, eyes bright and wide as he gave in; fingers turning sharp, “Sorry! Please, Shiro, I need it, give it to me, please, please--” 

“Good boy,” Shiro crooned, sinking back into him, slow and easy, making sure Lance could feel every single inch. Lance shouted and seized against him, back bowing at the stretch, hips swiveling in tiny thrusts as Shiro sank deeper, but kept slow, until Lance was cursing and clawing at him, vicious in his need. 

“Shiro, Shiro, fuck!” His cry choked off as Shiro pulled out again abruptly, only to back slam in; too fast and too much, until Lance was crying out on every thrust, lost to it, clawing angry marks through his shirt as he scrabbled for hold, demanding more with every seize of his body to him, as if he could pull Shiro deeper, even still. 

“Are you going to come for me, baby?” He purred into Lance's ear, dropping low, Lance choking against his weight and the shift in angle; shuddered and gasp against him, so tight, “Can you come just from this?” 

Lance's eyes flicked to him, mouth wide and gasping, and Shiro grinned, knowing, until Lance surged forward and sunk his teeth into his shoulder, sharp and vicious and somehow more than anything.

Shiro came, stunned with it, everything blown white hot and leveling, grinding and grinding into him until there was nothing left of him to give. 

When he came back to himself, Lance was petting his hair, smug and shameless, Shiro still wrapped up tight.

“Liked that?” He crooned to him, and Shiro groaned, flexing into him one more time. Lance gasped for it, and Shiro felt his hole clench instinctively again, as if he hadn't come with him, evidence sticky and slick between them. 

“Sorry,” He mumbled, bracing himself to pull back. Lance let him go, his hands lingering as he went, tracing the the plains of his chest, appreciative. Shiro grunted, and stared at the mess of them, satisfaction rumbling through him, pleased with it; Lance fucked out beneath him, Shiro still inside. 

Lance smiled, smearing a hand through it; down and down until it traced the edge of Shiro's slow-softening cock. Shiro shuddered; bit his lip. 

“Not enough?” He asked, all cheek, like he couldn't feel the answer in side him, twitching with interest.

Shiro growled, lost to him. “I hope you don't expect to walk tomorrow.”

“Promises, promises.” Lance murmured and swung his legs back around Shiro's hips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment if you're so inclined!


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